Freedom on Your Tongue
by kikis2
Summary: Katniss enters the games alone, wins them alone, and must face the consequences of her actions alone. Peeta has other plans. AU. Set after tHG and into CF. PeetaxKatniss, hints of GalexKatniss.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: This is an AU of what would happen if Peeta was never reaped. Takes place during the Hunger Games and continues past that. I'm sure this idea has been done before, but I promise I'm not stealing anyone else's idea. That I know of...

Reviews make my day…Just throwin' that out there. No pressure :)

**Warning**: Slight spoilers up to MJ. Adult themes. I'll probably up the rating at some point. Possible OOCness, though different events=different character reactions, so I've totally got an excuse.

**Disclaimer**: The Hunger Games is not mine. I own nothing.

}{

_Prologue_

}{

There's nothing she can do.

Katniss has to tell herself this over and over again.

Cato's not screaming anymore.

She briefly wonders what the mutts did to stop that awful sound, before her mind slips away, distancing itself from the possibilities.

Still, whimpers reach her in the breeze, coming from somewhere deep inside the Cornucopia. There are no more howls or yelps either. Cato would have fought the mutts with everything he had, with those knives he wielded so expertly, with those fists, so much quicker than someone of his size ought to be. But he wasn't fighting anymore. There was nothing but the snapping of jaws and the shredding of what she could only hope was clothing.

She didn't want to know if flesh could make that sound.

She huddles on top of the Cornucopia, pulling her legs close to try and make her jacket cover as much skin as possible. It doesn't seem to matter though. The icy wind pounds at her body, inescapable and relentless. She grits her teeth, but can't stop them from shattering together almost painfully. The ripples and seams of the gold Cornucopia prevent her from finding even the slightest amount of rest. Eventually she's overcome with numbness, and the icy metal beneath her is just another dull discomfort.

She can't feel any of her body anymore.

It's not a good sign.

She wishes she'd saved something from the last meal Haymitch had sent her. People from the Seam often had to work through the harsh winters of District 12, till their workmates would bring them to her mother, shivering and confused, faces a sickly blue. Her mother would place improvised heat packs under their arms, while Prim would scrounge something for them to eat. The body loses energy quickly in the cold and without replacing it their bodies won't have the energy to rewarm themselves.

All she had was the nightlock she'd used to trick Foxface and that wasn't going to be much help keeping her alive.

A new sound pricks at her mind. She tilts her head, trying to make sense of it. Everything seems distant and muddled, but it must be Cato. No more whimpers this time, just a breath, gurgled and pain-filled. But it seemed closer now.

Hesitantly, she crawls to the edge. Her movements are sloppy and loud. The agility and grace that had gotten her this far abandon her in the cold. It's still dark, but the blanket of night is beginning to soften. Dawn can't be an hour away.

She can make out Cato's mauled body close to the entrance. She pulls away before one of the mutts remembers there's more prey still to be had.

Her bow is in her hand before she makes the decision.

This is it. She can end this game and live to tell the tale.

She fumbles with her arrow. It slips from her fingers twice and trembles in the nock unsteadily. This isn't like her. She narrows her eyes to see clearer. Her fingers are blue-grey. They shake violently and she can't feel the arrow in her grip, just sharp pins where the feeling should be.

She resists the urge to cry in frustration.

It's her last arrow. This is her last chance to end it all: to end Cato's shallow breaths, to end the game, to _live_.

And then what?

The Capitol will pick her up. She'll be their beloved victor. She'll walk out in front of the Capitol audiences and they will applaud her with their multi-coloured hands, Caesar will congratulate her with lips the same shade as her frozen fingers, but will she see them? Or will she see Tate? Tate, who was eighteen and only three months short of escaping the reaping forever, who screamed at her to run from the Cornucopia, who was only a few steps away from the forest when Clove's knife flew into his neck and severed his spine. Will she see Glimmer, no longer golden and beautiful, just bones and skin to be broken for the sake of a bow? Will she ever forget Rue's tiny body, bloody and still under a field of flowers? Or maybe it will be Thresh who haunts her, his monstrous size and strength nothing in comparison to the Capitol's need for entertainment.

No.

She will not smile and be grateful that she got lucky while twenty-three others did not.

The Capitol could have their pound of flesh, but they could not take her soul.

With that her fingers, still thick and clumsy, tighten around her bow, even as her other hand dips into her pocket, preparing. If she's fast enough, they won't figure out what she's doing till it's too late.

She draws, and somehow her arrow flies true.

Cato will never make another sound.

She drops the bow and it tumbles off the side of the Cornucopia. She doesn't need it anymore. The mutts run, called back by the game makers. Her hand is already over her mouth and she swallows before the berries can barely touch her tongue.

Would they taste like freedom?

A canon goes off.

It's not hers, but it will have to do.

The Capitol stole so many lives, but it's her who will steal their last chance at a victor.

Her legs disappear from under her.

There's a soft orange glow on the horizon, the beginnings of a dawn she will never see. She tries to keep her eyes open, but it quickly becomes too hard.

_Her mother. Prim. Gale. Rue. Haymitch. The boy with the bread_…Too many faces, too little time.

Sleep, the final one she will ever take, comes quicker than it ever has before.

Her father's face comes last, clearer and truer than her memory could have conjured.

In the end, she is happy.

}{


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**: This story is totally gonna be PeetaxKatniss, it's just a little slow. And I also can't pass up some the chance at a little FinnickxKatniss friendship. R&R.

}{

_Chapter 1: Alive_

}{

The golden mutt was in pieces.

Beastly paws dangled, attached only by strings of unidentifiable flesh. Its monstrous claws were useless now, destroyed just like everything else. One of its eyes was just a gushing mess, congealed in a puss-like substance around its eye socket. The other eye was a beautiful, cornflower blue and fixed on her accusingly.

Its huge jaws opened, blade teeth glinting, and then it screamed.

It screamed with Cato's voice.

}{

Her eyes opened and all she saw was white, a white cleaner and brighter than any that existed in District 12.

"They told me you'd be awake today."

It took her a second to orient herself, but when she did she realised the room felt familiar. White ceiling, pink walls, pinker sheets, pastel vases filled with flowers of every colour lined the walls. Even if she wasn't conscious of it, she must have woken before, enough times to recognise her hospital room.

The bronzed man at her bedside was possibly the most beautiful person she'd ever laid eyes on.

It made her instantly uneasy.

"Finnick Odair," he introduced himself like the whole world wouldn't recognise his face. He dropped the spoon he was currently eating with then held out his hand expectantly.

She wasn't completely sure she could move yet, but even if she was, she probably wouldn't touch him.

"I know who you—" Her throat gave out, the tiny, rough voice too much of a strain. She suddenly realised how dry her mouth was. If she could feel anything, she was sure it would be sore.

Finnick pushed a glass towards her lips, as if to help her drink. Katniss wrestled the water from his grasp. The weight of the glass made her hand dip and tremble and water sloshed over the edge, but she managed to stabilize it, drinking greedily, both hands clutching the glass in the same way Prim used to drink when she was a baby.

She finished it off with a sigh and immediately wished for more. She eyed the pitcher on the table beside her longingly, but let the cup drop to her lap. There'd be no more misadventures with glass before she was sure her body could handle it, at least not with an audience.

Finnick continued eating his dessert, clever enough not to comment on the water-spotted sheets.

"Where am I?" Her voice was only slightly stronger this time.

"The Snow Wellness Centre. It's the best hospital in the Capitol. You're very lucky, you know." A lopsided smile appeared on his face as he said the last part. They both got the joke.

She focused on the strange tube coming out of her wrist. The tube led to a strange machine, which flashed in a rhythmic blue light. Wriggling her arm around, she could feel something move deep inside her. Could it be ripped out?

Finnick's spoon made distracting tinkling sounds and she wanted to ask why she was alive, but couldn't quite get the words out.

"Chocolate soufflé. The food in the hospital is slightly less…overpowering than the rest of the city." He held a spoon to her face. "Want some?"

She glared at his hand, not bothering to respond. She was almost certain he was just doing things to annoy her now.

"Did anyone ever tell you, you have a terrible bedside manner?" he teased.

"You're the one beside the bed."

His first real smile made him look even more beautiful, which only annoyed her further.

"This is fun and all, but they'll only let me hang in a high-ox room for a little longer, so we better talk fast."

"Why are you here?"

"Because we're going to be the best of friends."

She sincerely doubted that, but his tone was laced with things she didn't understand and she doubted he'd explain more than that.

"How did I survive?"

"You didn't. You died in the arena before they could pick you up. The few Capitol residents who were awake that early in the morning saw the live feed, but they cut off the relay fast and edited the subsequent replays for the districts. Your suicide is just a vague rumour denied by game makers who insist your delayed appearance is due to a hovercraft crash. They shoved you in a cry-pod with the intention of torturing you for information on the rebel movement later, but before they could unfreeze you, they realised the rumours had reached the districts and caused…unhappiness." His bright green eyes studied her seriously. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

She looked around the beautiful room, nothing like a hospital in any other district. Flowers, cards, and balloons, which she'd only seen on television before: all a perfect photo opportunity. Had Caesar Flickerman posed by her bed while a television audience sobbed at the unfairness of a hovercraft coming between them and their new victor?

"They saved me so I could tell everyone how I nearly died in a hovercraft accident. I'm alive to keep the districts quiet."

A girl with bright yellow hair burst through the door. Her shiny silver dress caught every light in the room, creating an unwholesome glare. Compared to the rest of the Capitol, her outfit was positively conservative. "Oh, Finni—I mean, Mr. Odair, you were only supposed to be here for five minutes!"

Finnick smiled sweetly. "Has it been five minutes? I'll leave then, but first," he held up the empty bowl he'd been eating from, "Kat finished off her dessert and is too shy for ask for more."

The nurse gave Katniss a sympathetic look, as if being without dessert was the saddest thing she'd ever heard of. "I'll be right back!" she assured them both before racing out again.

Finnick turned back to her. "They might need you alive, but only for as long as you can be used to control the districts."

Away from the madness of the games, she was very aware of how much she needed to stay alive. She doubted they'd hand out extra rations to the victor's district if the victor was a dead traitor. Prim would need her.

"What do I do?" She wasn't really asking Finnick, but he answered anyway, "Anything he tells you to."

"Anything who—"

The door opened again. "There was only lemon soufflé left. Is that okay? I can have another made."

"It's fine." Finnick took the dessert from the nurse. "We're just saying out goodbyes."

The nurse's sweet face looked anxious, obviously not wanting to disappoint Finnick, but not wanting to disobey orders either. She hovered near the door, uncertain what to do.

Finnick leaned over Katniss's bed and whispered close to her ear, "No matter what, just say yes."

She turned to give him a questioning glance, but Finnick just pressed a light kiss her bottom lip and pulled away.

She wondered if she was strong enough to hit him hard enough to hurt, only a look of warning kept her from trying.

He placed the small soufflé dish on her bedside table. "Eat up."

"I've lost my appetite."

Finnick shrugged and the dessert disappeared somewhere into his jacket. "I never get tired of sweets."

He winked at the nurse as he left and Katniss barely repressed a shudder.

The nurse opened a draw in the corner of the room and held up a small blue bottle.

She bit her bright violet lip, violet eyes dancing happily. "How exciting! You and another victor! And _Finnick Odair _at that..." She kept prattling on, but Katniss could only focus on the blue bottle.

"What's that for?"

The nurse looked confused. "It's sop-spray," she said like that should be clear to anyone. "Just a soporific to help you sleep," she explained.

The nurse waved the bottle at her and a damp mist gathered around her face.

Katniss was asleep before she could even complain.

}{

Finnick was behind her, shoving her forward.

"Run!"

She followed him, only a pace behind.

They were going to make it. Cover was only a few steps away.

He made no sound as he went down in front of her. Not a gasp, not a moan, just the sound of his body hitting the ground.

She stopped only to pull the bloody knife from his neck. The pool of red already leaked into his hair, only it wasn't bronze. It was black. Seam-black.

Tate-black.

She left him there.

Just like last time.

}{

The beeping woke her. Her eyes flew to the machine beside her. This time it pulsed in red and screamed in distress.

It was switched off quickly.

"Don't worry about that."

The smooth voice of her president made her sink deeper into the bed. Sweat beaded on her skin and her vision doubled and tripled when she tried to focus. It was him though. The man from the statues, from the history books, the one that forced her into the Hunger Games.

"I'm afraid I didn't have the time to wait for you to come out of your slumber, so the doctors gave you something to help. It's made your pulse somewhat erratic, but you're new heart can handle it far better than your old one ever could."

Was it the smell of roses making her queasy, or something else entirely?

"My heart?"

The skin of his face was thin and tight and pulled into something that resembled amusement.

"A miracle really. You went into cardiac arrest and the damage was too severe to repair. We could have got you a donor heart, of course, but that wouldn't be nearly as good as the one you've got in there." He ran a bony finger over her chest. His touch reminded her that she was naked under just a flimsy gown in a way Finnick's presence never had. "That one was grown in a lab, right along the muttations you fought so well."

Now she could hear it, beating inside her fast and unsteady. Trying to get out?

She stifled a cry.

"This room is high-oxygen, for the comfort of your injured lungs, but I'm afraid that means I can't stay long. Your body has adjusted to it and will need to be weaned slowly, I don't have that luxury. So to save time, we shall make an agreement not to lie to each other. Can I have your word?"

She nodded, not knowing if it was true, just knowing she had no other choice.

"I knew this was going to be easy. No one who won the Hunger Games is completely unredeemable. You're stunt has caused unrest within the districts, but I, unlike some of my advisors, believe the situation can be salvaged without the annihilation of a district or two. Do you think you can stop the rumours before it comes to that?"

"A hovercraft malfunctioned. I was badly injured, but I'm fully recovered and so happy to have won." She finished with a smile, not her best, but President Snow would know she'd do better when she wasn't under his scrutiny.

"Very good, Ms. Everdeen, but I'm afraid you'll have to do more than that."

"Like what?"

"First, I want that silly girl that spun and smiled for Caesar back. I want _her_ on the Victory Tour. I want her chatting and giggling and being just as vacant and shallow."

"I can do that."

"I want her with Finnick Odair every chance she gets, too."

Katniss frowned slightly. "You sent him."

"Finnick sees who I tell him to see. Just like you will."

"What does that mean?"

He leaned closer, so close she could smell something bloody and sick on his breath when he spoke. "That means, many in the Capitol know how very generous Mr. Odair can be with his company, for a price, and I want them knowing that you will be just as generous. If I say so."

She thought about Finnick, year after year, woman after woman, man after man and President Snow's pleasantly suggestive tone. Her queasiness was back again.

"But why?"

"You might not have Mr. Odair's looks, but there is something rather…striking about you. There are men who would be very grateful to me if I recommend them to you. Grateful men are so much easier to work with, wouldn't you agree?"

She scanned his face and did the second stupidest thing she's ever done. "I don't believe you."

His whole body twitched before he could regain control of it. "Ah, and perceptive too." He cups her cheek, and it takes every ounce of will not to pull away from him. "There's nothing quite like you in the Capitol. You might nearly be as big of a success as Mr. Odair! Now I did tell you the truth, just not all of it. Ask your new friend why I hand him over to Capitol discontents."

"What if I just don't do it?"

She knew what he'd say. She just had to hear it anyway.

"You will. I suppose we're at that awful point where I have to insist. I shall keep it simple and honest. I need you alive, but I do not need your family and I do not need your friends."

_Prim_. _Her mother_. _Gale_.

It was too much. Too much to think of, too awful to contemplate.

"I'll do it. Anything. I swear."

"I knew you were a clever girl." He stood, straightening the cuffs of his outlandish suit. "Miss Everdeen, I'll ask only one more question. My Director of Intelligence thinks that you could be working for someone, but I don't think that's it at all. So tell me, what made you do it?"

His icy eyes sharpened and it was so much worse than the way any tribute had ever looked at her. He'd know a lie, and she wanted him to know the truth, anyway. So she whispered it, knowing somehow he'd hear. "I'd rather be dead than _yours_."

He smiled, bow-shaped lips stretching even tighter. "Yes, I thought as much."

}{


	3. Chapter 3

}{

_Chapter 2: Home_

}{

Peeta smoothed his hair back then pushed it forward slightly, trying to remember the exact way it sat the day Starch Blakiston told him he looked cute. It was also the day Imma Fieldon kissed him behind the school maintenance shed, so there had to be something to the words.

Had it been parted on the opposite side? Was it shorter then? Did any of that matter?

Katniss had never looked at his hair before. Or any part of him, really. She actually made a diligent effort to never look at him at all.

He sighed and ran some of Bannick's product through his hair. His older brother might bruise him for it later, but at least his hair wouldn't have that stupid cowlick thing that would give Katniss the impression of a dorky twelve-year-old.

It was early enough that the streets were still busy. People were heading in and out of the main town, into shops or out to the mines.

Would she even be awake?

Because of the bakery he hadn't been able to sleep past dawn since he was seven and if he waited around at home the flips his stomach kept doing would probably make him pass out, then his cowardly side would take over and another decade would pass before he got the courage to approach Katniss. He'd have to wait till she survived another death fight for an excuse to talk to her.

As he entered Victor's Village, Gale Hawthorne was leaving, walking briskly on the other side of the street.

Peeta couldn't help the way his steps faltered.

At least he knew Katniss was awake.

Unless she'd just gotten to sleep after a long night with Gale…

He shut his eyes as if that would stop the images his brain was tormenting him with. He'd seen the way Katniss treated Gale when she arrived home, how she'd stepped right off the train and straight into Gale's arms. Well, that might not be exactly how it happened. She might have clutched Prim to her for a long minute, then kissed her mother and greeted a few other people, but all he could remember was that somewhere in there Gale had wrapped her in his arms and Katniss had buried her face in his shoulder like that was her home.

But it didn't matter.

She hadn't chosen Gale. They weren't married. They weren't even engaged. And that meant he still had a shot.

He waved politely to the boy across the street, summoning a small smile.

It's not like he was waiting for Gale to head off to the mines so he could sneak in and steal his girl.

It only _looked_ that way.

So there was no reason not to be friendly.

Gale scowled, his lips twisting in disgust before he looked away and quickened his pace in a determined effort to ignore Peeta.

Well.

That was unpleasant.

Peeta had no idea why girls were always throwing themselves at Gale. Sure he was tall and svelte and his face was all perfectly chiselled and that constant brooding demeanour probably made him seem mysterious and attractive, but…whatever.

He was still kind of an asshole.

Everything changed the minute he stepped into Victor's Village. It was like another world, from the perfectly manicured hedges to the beautifully cultivated flowers there was little sign that he was still in District 12. The Capitol kept the roads and utilities maintained here. The rest of the district had thought it was wasted on an old drunk like Haymitch.

People weren't saying anything like that now, not with the horrors of the last Hunger Games still fresh in their minds.

The Everdeen's house loomed above him and cast a rather foreboding shadow. The smell of fresh paint was almost overpowering. The Capitol must have wanted everything perfect for their new victor.

He knocked too loud and too long before he could lose his nerve. He juggled the package around so that he could wipe his hands, which had become damp with perspiration. This was such a stupid idea. He was only going to embarrass himself. What was he thinking?

And then she was in front of him.

Katniss Everdeen.

The girl he'd loved for as long as he could remember.

She was wearing the same brown leggings and oversized shirt he'd often seen her in before. A hunting belt was wrapped low on her hips. The only thing missing was her leather boots. Her leggings covered most of her feet though, despite the fact they'd been rolled up a few times.

It was hard to remember that she was so small when she always took up so much of his vision.

Her dark hair was in its usual braid and even messier than usual. The brows over her sable eyes pulled together in irritation.

"Yes?"

He must have been staring like an idiot while his tongue refused to move.

"Um—Yeah. Hi, Katniss. I'm Peeta. We're in the same—"

"Class," she cut him off. "I know. We've been in the same class for nine years."

"Eleven," he corrected automatically.

The line between her brows deepened in bafflement. "Eleven…" she repeated slowly.

He almost laughed at himself. He'd played this moment in his head a million times. It usually went better than this.

"I just wanted to give you this." He held out the package. "It's a cake," he continued when she seemed reluctant to take it.

She regarded it suspiciously, as if the box might contain a wild animal.

Though, come to think of it, she'd probably be happier with the wild animal.

He opened the lid to show her. _Welcome Home _was scrawled across the top in his neatest calligraphy, surrounded by flowers of every frosting shade he had on hand. It was more ornate than the ones he usually made, mostly because he knew Katniss wouldn't be particularly interested in it, but someone else would. "It's Prim's favourite."

Since the Hunger Games, Prim came into the bakery most mornings to buy bread. She always took her time, complimenting him on the prettiest cakes and asking how they made some of the different buns.

"Oh." Katniss's face lightened like he knew it would. "Prim!" she called over her shoulder.

She stepped aside and motioned for Peeta to come in. He let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. It probably wasn't fair to use Katniss's only weakness against her, but compared to his brothers' exploits this was pretty mild.

Prim walked up behind Katniss, her face open and clear in a way her older sister's was never. Unlike Katniss she had on new clothes, a pretty peach-coloured dress, similar to what many of the Townies wore.

"Peeta's brought us a cake. Do you think you could fetch my purse?"

"No," he interrupted. "I mean, it's a gift. That's not…You don't pay for gifts," he explained softly, already blushing.

Katniss was frowning again, but Prim was clearly happy when Peeta handed her the box. "Is that pink marble? That's my favourite, you know! And it has the most gorgeous frosting I've ever seen! I can't wait to try some."

Katniss tore her gaze away from Peeta to smile at Prim. Her little sister's moods were always infectious. "Have some now then."

"For breakfast?" Prim asked uncertainly.

Katniss shrugged. "Sure. Why not?"

Prim giggled as Katniss led them into the kitchen.

Peeta followed, not quite sure that he was supposed to, but feeling braver when no one stopped him. He took his time, soaking in most expensive house he'd ever been inside. It was all beautiful and immaculate, but there was something almost clinical about it. It barely seemed lived in, maybe because it hadn't been for a lifetime.

Katniss sat at the breakfast bar, watching in amusement as Prim hoisted herself onto the counter top to crawl around in search for bowls in the cupboards above. "We haven't really had time to sort through things," Prim explained.

Peeta took the stool beside Katniss and tried not to stare at her. "I saw your last interview with Caesar Flickerman. You were really good." It had been broadcast the night before Katniss arrived home, even though it must have been recorded before then.

Katniss gave him a strange look. "I doubt that."

"It's true." She had been good, bright and giggly and nothing at all like the girl sitting beside him. He liked this Katniss better, but this Katniss probably wasn't fit for audience consumption. "Did you get to see much of the Capitol after the…games." He hesitated, suddenly embarrassed. He couldn't believe he was having his first real conversation with Katniss and he'd just brought up the most terrible experience of her life. Even Prim gave him a warning glance.

Katniss didn't show any reaction to the reminder, just leaned forward to cross her arms on the bench. "No. They fixed me up, gave me a dinner, and sent me on my way."

He didn't know what to say now, afraid something else foolish might fall out of his mouth.

"I'll be going there again after the tour," she continued reluctantly. "I might have to stay longer." Her hands clenched where they were wrapped around her elbows, ragged nails biting into her skin.

He really wished he could grab her hands and pull them away from the angry red marks they were making. It made him think about those ugly rumours he didn't want to believe. He studied her closer. Her eyes were wide and empty, lost to whatever evil thought held her captive. The dark smudges under her eyes were deep and troubling.

He leaned forward and plucked something caught in her hair. Closer, he could see it was a twig.

"Have you been hunting already this morning?"

"No," she answered shortly, snatching the twig from his fingers and throwing it towards the sink.

"Choose your piece, guys," Prim interrupted in an overly bright voice. "I've got first claim on the violet flowers though!"

"Hmmn." Peeta rubbed his chin thoughtfully, pretending to take the question very seriously. "I think I'll have to go with the…orange flowers."

"Good choice." Prim played along, nodding in approval. She handed over the bowls. "Orange for Peeta. Green for Katniss."

Katniss smiled faintly at the cake.

They would have eaten in awkward silence if it wasn't for Prim who chatted easily with him.

It wasn't until they started talking about the Capitol that Katniss even showed some sign that she was listening.

"And I'd do anything to go. I just want to see the clothes they wear and body mods _once_."

"Family's not allowed," Katniss insisted emphatically, as if this was a conversation they'd had many times before.

"I know," Prim sighed. "It's just all those shiny jewels and scales…"

Peeta was certain he'd seen some of the career victors on television with their family, but decided now probably wasn't the time to bring that up. "I heard you and your mother were opening up a clinic of sorts, Prim."

The smallest Everdeen beamed. "No, not really. It's just that we have all this money now, so we can afford enough supplies to help more people."

Katniss did something that made her spoon clatter loudly, cutting off all talk and making the others turn towards her. "I have errands to run, " she announced abruptly. "Do you want to come with me?"

It took a second to realise she was talking to him. "Sounds good," he replied, desperately trying not to sound overeager.

"Thank you for the cake, Peeta," Prim said in her most polite voice. Katniss was already moving quickly towards the front door and Peeta could only wave back at her as he hurried to follow.

Katniss kept a quick pace and he was briefly grateful his longer legs meant he could keep up without jogging. He struggled to think of conversation material, so he talked about how good it must be to live in a quiet neighbourhood and how beautiful her new home was, but Katniss remained silent, her expression getting darker with every word.

They were close to the bakery when Katniss suddenly stopped, turning on him.

"Look, can you just tell me what this is all about now?" she demanded.

"What?" he asked, somewhat stunned.

"The visit, the cake, all the talk," she explained, as if she was laying out the clues to an unsolved crime.

Did she know? Was he really that obvious? He fiddled with the edge of his shirt, trying to think of something that didn't make him sound like an obsessed stalker. His brothers were right; he was hopeless with girls.

Her brows were scrunched together again. He wondered if that was common, or if it was just him that annoyed her.

She turned away and started walking, a small sigh leaving her body. "You can tell me," she repeated, gently this time. "I think about it all the time, you know. What I owe you. So if you want something, just tell me."

He caught up to her, swiftly grabbing her arm to stop her. She snatched it back in an almost violent move. The look in her eyes made him flinch.

So stupid. He should have realised she'd be upset about being grabbed from behind.

Katniss bit her lip, looking embarrassed. She continued quickly, trying to cover her reaction, "I get it. You don't have to play games."

"I honestly have no idea what you're talking about, maybe I'm slow or something, but you're going to have to spell it out."

She searched his face, looking for any hint of deceit.

"The bread…"

"Oh." He immediately realised what she was talking about. Seeing the girl he loved with all of his eleven-year-old heart, starving and rifling through bins for a way to feed herself was one of the worst things he'd ever seen and if she hadn't been reaped it still would still be at the top of the list.

"Hold up. You thought I was doing this to work an _angle_?"

He couldn't quite believe it. Had she really thought he'd come crawling out of the woodwork to prey on her newfound wealth? That he was low enough to use one small act of kindness as leverage? He didn't know whether to be angry or sad that she had so little faith in him.

Then again, they lived in a world where children who were lucky enough not to starve to death were sent away to fight to the death for entertainment, so could he really blame her for being cynical?

"I owe you," she responded simply, some deep feeling leaching the strength from her words. "And I couldn't think of any reason why you'd want to see me…"

Sad, he decided. Definitely sad.

"You don't owe me a thing. And I wanted to see you, because I always want to see you." He said it simply, masking any of the deeper meanings.

Katniss regarded him in confusion. "You don't know me."

"I know," he agreed. "But when you were reaped I was…upset. I always thought that I should get to know you. That I should wave to the girl who sat three seats behind me or ask her how she did on the last test. But then you were leaving and I didn't even have a reason to tell you goodbye or good luck. You were leaving and I couldn't tell you how much I hoped you came back."

She couldn't quite meet his eyes. "I did come back."

"Yep," he said happily, "And I'm not going to miss another opportunity."

"Really?" she asked, her eyebrows rising, humouring him.

He nodded. "And that means I'm going to be around. I'm going to wave to you and ask you how you went on that last exam and we're going to be friends."

She was studying him again, trying to figure him out when there really wasn't all that much to him.

"You would want that?" she asked gravely.

"Yes," he replied, just as serious.

She nodded once. He got the feeling she was only agreeing because she thought she owed him something, but it didn't matter.

He'd take what he could get.

}{

**E/N**: I now completely understand the ending of MJ. Getting Katniss into anything remotely romantic is going to be tough…


	4. Chapter 4

}{

_Chapter 3: Unapology_

}{

The nightmares didn't come every night, but they came more nights than not.

The Capitol sent her medicine for them, another spray that she was supposed to take every day. It made her thoughts slow and her sleep heavy. It didn't take the nightmares away, just made them impossible to wake from.

Were all victors so lucky? Every year when they received their victor's prize, were those boxes laced with enough meds to make the trade worth it? Sanity for riches. Once she would have been happy for the deal; she would have sold anything to keep Prim and her mother fed. She's not so sure anymore.

Though seeing Prim in her new dresses did help.

Eventually, she gave up on sleep. She pulled on her coat and boots and stumbled into the street. It was harder to get around at night. The district had a vague curfew, the rules of which she wasn't certain about. It had only ever been enforced selectively. A peacekeeper might drag you home if they thought you were up to something, another might lock you up for a few days, or they could ignore you altogether.

In the yard only two houses from hers, she silently lifted herself onto a windowsill, balancing all her weight on her arms for a precarious second. Haymitch was passed out in an armchair. A liquor bottle was tipped over on his lap, its meagre remains leaving a soaked patch down his leg and dripping into the once plush carpet. His chest slowly expanded and she dropped back to the ground. Katniss had a rather reasonable fear that Haymitch would pass out and die choking on his own vomit. When that day inevitably came, she didn't want Hazelle to be the one to find him.

She kept to the shadows all the way through town, which was easy enough seen as no one could remember a time when the street lights still worked, if they ever had at all. She slipped under the fence, but it was harder to work her way through the forest in the dark. Each step was louder, each movement slower as she relied heavily on senses other than her sight. Finding a familiar tree, she fought her way up, foot after foot disappeared under her hands till her breath came easier and her limbs weren't fighting her brain to run and hide. The branch was too thin to be comfortable, but thick enough that she could lean her back against the tree trunk and feel stable.

The forest was still her home. It was still the one place where she was alone and almost free, but it was different, now that she knew what forests could hide. She closed her eyes. _But not in this forest_. _That was another forest. An evil place built by evil people far, far away_. It was a familiar chant, one that never quite worked. Still she was high up, and that was almost enough to keep her safe.

She drifted into that place that wasn't quite sleep, where time melted away but bones were no less weary.

Something hit her thigh, and she looked upwards before her eyes were even open. The missile had the woody texture of a cone, but this was definitely the wrong species of tree for that. She leaned over to search the ground just in time to catch another cone in the chest.

"Morning, squirrel!" Gale called up.

Her eyes narrowed. "It would serve you right if I fell."

He only laughed at the mention of her possible demise. "Ready to come down yet?"

She thought for a second before wordlessly beginning her descent. Sharp chunks of wood dug into her hands and branches bent but never broke under her feet. As she dangled from the lowest branch, Gale wrapped his hands around her waist, easing her onto the ground.

She tried not to read anything into the way his hands lingered as she brushed off her clothes.

He'd kissed her once. It was the first time she'd gone into the forest with him after returning from the capitol. He'd already known things. Not everything, but enough. He'd been almost proud of her stunt with the nightlock, but more than that, he was angry. _Never again_, he'd made her swear. They'd fight to kill, or not at all.

Somehow, he'd pushed her against a tree, and his hands were holding her face up to his. "You don't get to leave me like that," he'd growled before lowering his lips to hers. And it was all so _new_. There was nothing _Gale_ about the way his lips sucked on hers, or the way his tongue felt as it ran lightly over her teeth, nothing of the Gale she knew in his calloused fingers holding her face, or the muscled arm protecting her back from the bruising tree.

She'd been breathing heavily by the time he pulled back, her thoughts frantic. Gale had just sworn under his breath then held her close for a second, but it wasn't the same. His arms didn't feel familiar anymore and she wondered if he'd ever feel safe again.

"That was too soon. I should have waited. But just think about it, okay?"

She'd nodded, because there was nothing else to do.

But she never thought about it. Every corner of her mind was inhabited by nightmares and the second she managed to focus on anything else, real life monsters waited. There was still a chance she could fix her mistakes. The Victory Tour was less than a week away and then she'd see for herself what was going on. She had a chance to quell whatever unrest there was in the districts and there was a chance, however small, that President Snow would leave her and her family alone. Occasionally she spared a thought for the other victors, for Haymitch, whose sad existence had Snow's finger prints all over it, for Finnick, who even now was suffering a fate she couldn't imagine. She would probably feel more sympathetic if there wasn't a chance she'd be joining him soon.

She had to survive and she couldn't waste time thinking about what Gale kissing her might mean.

She straightened and Gale handed her bow over, which he must have collected from her hiding spot on the way in.

He gave her a steady look. That stare meant she must look at least as bad as she felt.

"Have a good night?" he finally asked. It was the closest he'd ever come to asking if she was alright. He knew that she wasn't and knew that she wouldn't appreciate his questions.

"Fine. Prim didn't send you?" She grimaced. Prim got worried when Katniss wasn't back before she woke. Prim had even gone to Gale and implored him to hunt her down a couple of times.

Still, this was better than the alternative of waking up screaming till Prim and her mother were pulled from their sleep. Things were horrible enough without the wrongness of having her baby sister hold her at night, promising that everything was alright when it clearly wasn't.

"Still early," Gale told her. "We've got time for a hunt if we make it quick."

It was an unusually hard morning. The forest was either empty, or somehow they were emptying it. She'd gotten less than four or five hours of decent sleep in the last three days and her instincts were bearing the cost. Blurs and shadows she caught out of the corner of her eye disappeared when she turned towards them. She ruined Gale's kill by tripping over a tree stump and frightening the squirrel. It was sheer determination more than any skill that let her hunt it down again. Luckily, one of Gale's snares held a good sized rabbit, which almost made the hunt worth their efforts.

They headed home, Gale seeming unconcerned by the morning. He didn't say a word about her bumbling efforts, but she was annoyed with herself. She should have done better. She might not need to hunt anymore, but it was still important for Gale and his family. He was working in the mines, the mines that had killed their fathers, just to put food on his family's table and if she wasn't at the top of her game then she'd never convince him to quit.

And he couldn't stay there long. No one ever did.

The Capitol insisted there weren't any health risks of working with gases and coal dust, but Gale didn't believe that any more than she did. There were no old miners, and that fact rather spoke for itself.

She had to find a way to get him out of there.

"Is that baker's kid still hanging around?" Gale asked casually, still cleaning his knife as they walked.

She'd bet good money that Gale knew Peeta's name. She assumed his general antipathy towards merchants stopped him from using it.

"Sometimes," she answered cautiously.

Peeta was still in school. She was meant to be as well, but she'd never bothered going back and no one had made her. Senior years were even worse. Most of the children had apprenticeships or took up other work to help their family by sixteen, so classes only ran three days a week, which was just two less days to not teach them anything. Peeta worked at the bakery those two days, and alternate mornings and afternoons. He usually came over when school let out and he didn't have to work.

"What do you do? I can't imagine the two of you have much in common."

Katniss couldn't understand whatever laced Gale's words, but knew it wasn't good. "Nothing really." She shrugged. Peeta had chatted incessantly the second time he'd come over, the nervous kind of chatter that didn't say a lot. He was better now though. He seemed happy enough to do his homework while she sharpened her knives or opened the ridiculous mail she got, only making a few jokes when she pulled out some of the truly atrocious gifts her Capitol fans sent. He actually made the task grate on her nerves slightly less.

"I honestly don't know what he wants," she admitted.

Gale snorted. "I'll give you three guesses."

The look he gave her was so suggestive she had to fight the urge to trip him.

She knew what guys did when they were after _that_. Not from experience, of course. Nor did she ever talk about it, finding it the most useless topic imaginable, but she'd seen it. They usually came with frivolous gifts like scented soap or hair ribbons, and silly words of flattery that seemed more embarrassing than anything else.

Peeta had been nothing but polite and vaguely friendly. He occasionally tried to ask her questions, but he'd talked longer with Prim than her.

"Don't be stupid," she hissed, not even looking at him.

"Then don't be such a child!" Gale shot back.

"It's not like that." She shook her head, getting angrier.

"Maybe not for you, but it is for him. He's going to use you, Katniss. Then he'll brag to his whoreson friends about how he screwed District 12's very own victor. Don't let him."

She marched ahead, trying to put as much distance between them as she could. It's not as if she didn't think the same thing. Well, not exactly the same thing, but she had thought Peeta wanted something from her. Maybe money to help his family, or something from another district for the bakery that only she could get. But it made her angry that Gale thought the only possible reason someone might befriend her was bragging rights.

Then they were in her head again. Buzzing. The sound of tracker jacker wings vibrating invaded her senses and wouldn't leave. _It's not real_. She focused on taking even steps and not freaking out. Gale didn't need any more evidence of her insanity. But the sound didn't stop. It just kept getting louder and louder. She spun, her head twisting from side to side as she desperately searched for the mutts she knew couldn't be there. Maybe Snow wanted her dead. Maybe he didn't want to even give her a chance to fail before he killed Gale. But why tracker jackers? Had she really done something so terrible she deserved the pain of death by tracker jacker poisoning?

Gale's hand was around her elbow, squeezing gently to get her attention. Had he been saying something?

"Bee, Katniss." He pointed to the heavy grass beside them. "Just a bee," he said with so much understanding it made her want scream.

She was sweating and the heart she shouldn't have was beating unhappily fast.

She couldn't handle this. This stupid fear that haunted her every move. It was just the last straw of frustration that broke her temper.

She prowled into the grass, one foot directly in front of the other. The bee bobbed up and down, its movements abrupt and jerky. Occasionally it would stop to rest on a flower before continuing on.

"Katniss?" Gale questioned.

She held up a finger, signalling that she needed silence. He followed her as she followed the bee.

She heard the hive before the bee could lead her to it. It was in the hollow of a dead tree, half fallen into the forest, like a drunk leaning on his comrades.

She grinned back at Gale.

"No, no, _no_. It's not worth it, Katniss. And I have to be at work soon."

"Then go."

"And how are you going to start a fire without your belt?"

She'd forgotten about that. "You can leave your kit with me." She held out her hand imperiously.

Gale sighed and handed her his tinder kit, but stayed on.

She didn't know what Gale was talking about. It really wasn't that hard. And so what if she'd been a little too quick to go for the combs and a few bees hadn't been sedated? Though she didn't know why they all went for her face when Gale's was right there and twice as pretty as hers. She'd had her jacket wrapped around her face, below her eyes, so the only good stings they'd got were above her left cheek and on her left temple.

Gale had helped her cut out as many combs at they could wrap in the small cloth he used for berries. She took an extra piece she could eat from on the journey home. Gale plucked the stingers from her face without comment and she was proud of herself for not making a sound at the pain.

Back on the trail home, she felt much lighter than she had before. She felt almost giddy as she licked honey from her hand. It dripped steadily from the comb and she was certain it would be down to her elbow by the time she got into town.

"Fuck!" Gale swore, doing a double take at her face. "Don't let Prim see you like that. You look like something from the swamps," he laughed.

She laughed too, even though when she smiled she couldn't see out of her left eye, which was heavily swollen.

"Told you not to bother," he reminded her.

She dipped her finger into a puddle of honey and then swiped it across Gale's mouth. "Tell me that isn't worth it," she teased.

He pulled his lips into his mouth, tasting them slowly. There was something in his eyes that made her uncomfortable. "You may have a point," he said in a falsely light voice.

"I'm sorry. For earlier. About Peeta," he clarified when she looked confused. "I just don't want you getting hurt. More than you already have."

"I know," she replied, slipping under the fence. "Give me everything. I'll drop whatever I get at the hob off with Hazelle."

He held out their prizes with a sharp glance. "And take your share?"

"Of course." She grabbed everything, though it was annoying without her usual hunting stuff.

"Are you lying?"

"Of course." She smiled, knowing there was nothing he could do about it.

His reluctant smile echoed hers. "Get something for your face, Catnip. That thing could scare Haymitch."

She headed to the hob and he went off for another day in the mines.

She finished off her honey comb and ignored the strange looks she was getting. People always looked at her strangely anyway.

She got a decent price for both game. Not great. She didn't have it in her to drive a hard bargain when she had so much and everyone else had so little. Greasy Sae eyed her face slyly. "You fight it out with a hive, 'ey? Don't suppose you'll be trading for that."

Honey was rare in the district. She'd get good price for it, money that Gale's family could use…But she thought on Prim's smile and the way Posy clapped her hands when she was truly excited, which wasn't nearly as often as five-year-olds should be.

"Not today."

There was no reason her attention should be drawn, none at all. Everything in the Hob was dim, even the features of its occupants bore a striking resemblance. The dark hair and eyes of the Seam were prevalent here.

And Ash's were no different.

She was taller than most people. And her face had a soft beauty that wasn't common in the district, even if it was usually marred by a smirk.

Ash was Tate's older sister. He'd told her once that less than a year separated them, so she had to be over eighteen.

Their eyes met, grey on grey, and Katniss froze. There was nothing she could read in Ash's gaze, and nothing she truly wanted to see anyway. What could she say? _I'm sorry your brother is dead? I'm sorry I hesitated at the Cornucopia? I'm sorry Tate was too kind to let me die? _

It was nothing but the awful sort of luck that seemed to rule her life.

Tate hadn't wanted to like her and she'd been determined to not like him. For either to survive, the other had to die, and they both refused to hide from that fact. If she was nice to Tate, he would have hated her for making the games even harder. But she wasn't. She'd ignored him on good days and been downright surly on others.

That had won his approval quicker than anything else could have.

He didn't have her hunting skills, bet he'd been clever and strong, and a survivor just like her. _Almost a survivor_, she amended.

He might have lived, if he'd had a little less respect for her.

The older girl's eyes slipped away and Katniss felt like she could breathe again. The smirk on the other girl's face tightened into something painful looking.

She couldn't apologize, because she wasn't nearly as brave as she pretended to be.

She knew she had to find a way to help her.

Tate's mother had died years ago leaving Ash, Tate, and their younger brother, Cloud, practically orphaned. Their father was an alcoholic who would spend his own money and anything his kids earned faster than they could make it. It was a better year for most, but the rations for the winner's district wouldn't last forever.

She started towards Gale's house.

Tate's family wouldn't take charity and nothing she did could be traced back to her. Being nice was dangerous when you were accused of inciting rebellion. She'd have to think on it.

By the time Hazelle opened the door, this morning's earnings had tripled.

"Good catch?" Hazelle asked with one brow raised suspiciously as she took the money.

Gale's mother knew she slipped extra into the trade, but allowed it anyway. Hazelle wasn't too proud to take a little help if it kept her kids' stomachs full. Not to mention she thought Katniss's generosity was purely for Gale's sake, which made it easier it swallow.

"Excellent," she lied. "Kids still here?"

"I'm not a kid!" Rory howled from somewhere deeper in the house. She found him pulling on his boots in the tiny bedroom the three boys shared. "I'm only a few years younger than you, Catnip," he informed her with a lightning-quick grin.

"Right," she said wryly. "How could I have forgotten?" She slipped a few coins into his hand. Then ruffled Vick's hair before he could protest, slipping the same amount into the youngest boy's pocket. She tapped her nose and Vick giggled at the thought of their shared secret.

"Are you a monster today, Kat?" Vick asked, gripping his coins in a protective fist.

The question startled her before she realised he was referring to her bee stings, for a brief second she thought he'd been talking about the games. She managed a small smile. "Save up and buy yourself new shoes." She touched the hole where his sock was visible.

She always gave them enough for a few meals in case of emergency. They weren't the type of boys to waste it, but even if they did, she wouldn't mind. She spent as long as she could helping Hazelle with the washing and cuddling Posy whenever Hazelle shooed her away.

The house was empty by the time she got home. Prim would be at school and her mother was probably out on an errand, either healing or looking for ingredients.

In her study, she tried to focus on the sketches Cinna had sent, but somehow her head ended up on the page and she simply traced the same design endlessly.

}{

The night was there far too quick. And just like the night before she didn't last long in her bed.

She was in the same tree this time, though she managed to climb higher. But she wasn't safe. Not ever. Not even close

She became hopelessly tangled in the trees bushy foliage. Vicious thorns bit at her skin and beautiful roses waited patiently to taste her blood. She wanted to pull herself free, but she knew she'd fall if she did.

And he was waiting at the bottom, circling the tree. His pale eyes watched and his bloody mouth watered.

}{

Prim opened the door and greeted him with the sweetest smile he'd seen since, well, the last time he'd been here. She sent him up to the study with strict instructions before she rushed out to help her mother with a birth.

He knocked lightly on the study door, entering only after a long pause with no answer.

Katniss was slumped on her desk, her mouth open and even breaths slipping from her lips.

She looked more dishevelled than he'd ever seen her and he hesitated to wake her, despite Prim's instructions. Her eyes flickered frantically behind their lids and her breath shook, almost like a soundless whimper.

He put a hand on her shoulder, rubbing it softly as he called her name.

She sprung up without warning, her eyes blinking too fast as she tried to focus.

He wiped the worry from his face. "Sorry to wake you, but Prim sent me with this for your stings." There was a cold pack and some sweet smelling ointment in his hands.

"It's okay," she said slowly, her eyes dipping to Cinna's sketch, which she'd ruined. "I've been told my face needs all the help it can get."

"Looks fine to me," he replied honestly.

She gave a small sound that might have been a laugh. "Thanks," she responded, taking his words as sarcasm. "Better not waste the ointment though."

He watched as she applied the brown gunk haphazardly. She never worried about how she looked, and it drove him crazy, because no one should be that attractive and not even attempt to care. It wasn't fair.

But he had to admit, it wasn't her best day.

She rubbed her good eye, as if it wouldn't quite stay open, which must have made things tough with the other one swollen closed.

"You should lie down." He nodded to the fancy chaise lounge in the corner of the room.

Katniss snorted.

"Really," he assured her. "I disturbed your nap. And I've got a heap of homework to do. You'd be doing me a favour, because then I could use the peace of your study without feeling like a total jerk."

"I shouldn't. I've been asleep too long alr—" Her mouth stretched open with a bone-cracking yawn.

"Go on." He guided her towards the lounge. "I'll just finish my math work and then I'll wake you."

She must desperately need the sleep, because there was no way she'd be this easy to maneuverer any other day.

She perched on the edge of the lounge, still looking uncertain. "You won't let me sleep long?" she questioned, sounding too young and too unsure to be the Katniss he knew.

"Nope. I'll keep watch and wake you from the bad stuff."

She nodded, already curling into the lounge. She was too tired to notice he was promising he'd wake her before the nightmares came, something well-rested Katniss would despise.

But he did anyway.

And he swore he always would.

}{


	5. Chapter 5

A/n: This poor, poor abandoned story got me feeling sorry for it, so I wrote a few chapters for it. At work. From an iPad. An iPad with autocorrect that thinks my rather common, one syllable name is "Carrow". Be kind.

}{

Chapter 4: The Sweet Taste of Victory

}{

He loved cooking at the Everdeens'.

Katniss had given him a jar of honey in trade for his baking skills, but they decided to pool their honey together and divide evenly whatever he cooked.

It was different from the bakery, when everything he made was dictated by what might sell and he ran against a strict schedule. His mother's quick hands were always there to remind him nothing he did was ever right. For all her caution and surliness, Katniss never called him on his mistakes. And he did make them. Sometimes she startled when approached too fast, or grazed her by accident. Fear soured her words and darkened her mood, but she was never angry at him. It was always turned inwards till he could almost hear the condemnation she'd pour on herself.

In the Everdeens' kitchen he took his time, preparing all the ingredients to his standards and writing notes so he could compare and repeat recipes. He didn't have to worry about his mother's vicious insults when he spilt batter because Prim and Katniss were always there to swipe at the mess and unabashedly lick it from their fingers. Prim was a dutiful assistant while Katniss had haughtily taken the position of supervisor.

Prim reached up to cup her hands around his ear. "We're lucky. Katniss should never be involved in the preparation of food unless it needs slaughtering."

He nodded seriously.

"What was that, little duck?"

Prim just smiled, handing Peeta the chamomile syrup she'd prepared.

When they'd finally put the cakes in the oven Prim left to help her mother with orders. "Are you at least going to help with the clean up?" She poked her older sister's arm in warning.

"I will lick the bowl," Katniss offered with grandeur, making him laugh.

They set up stations; she washed and he dried.

He'd gotten better at being around her. He didn't choke on his own tongue every time she was near, but his pulse still raced slightly too fast when her arm brushed against his waist. He didn't think that would ever stop.

"Are you looking forward to tomorrow, yet?" Deep breaths kept him from stuttering.

"No."

He couldn't quite understand her attitude. She professed her hatred for the Victory Tour. She hated the attention, the travelling, the crowds, the interviews and making speeches, but as the date had drawn nearer her mood had gotten lighter. She still wasn't exactly friendly, but the haunted look in her eyes was pushed away. This was how he she'd been before the games, so confident and present it was hard not to be captivated.

She passed the last utensil to him and he dried it then turned to rest against the sink.

Stray hairs dangled in front of her eyes. She tried to brush it away with her wrist so as to not touch it with her sudsy hands. Without thinking, he reached up and tucked it behind her ear. It was more intimate gesture then he'd intended and she froze under his touch.

And he knew this was the time. The perfect moment.

He'd seen Gale leaving early one morning and asked Katniss if Gale stayed here sometimes. "Why would he?" she'd responded, her expression so honestly baffled it had made him grin insanely, and completely ignore the worrying fact that even the most blatant implications were lost on the girl he dreamed of one day marrying.

"I'll miss you when you're gone." He tried to put everything he felt into those words—years of longing, and whimsy, and a precious, flighty hope.

Katniss remained oddly still, watching him cautiously. _Always so cautious._ And then she gave a smile so sweet and pure it almost strangled his heart. "I won't be gone for that long."

He ducked his head to hide his expression. Of course she didn't get it.

Katniss lifted herself onto the edge of the counter and grabbed the used bowl and mixing spatula. She offered the spatula to him, leftover cake mix still dripping off the side.

He shook his head, his stomach turning at the sight. "All yours."

He tried not to stare at the utensil she dragged between her lips, or the way her tongue slithered with enthusiasm, searching for every last molecule of sugary goodness.

She sighed with contentment before taking the bowl to the sink.

He was immensely glad Katniss wouldn't think twice about his flushed face.

"Do you think you could make me a cake without cooking it?" Her smoky eyes crinkled around the edges and even though it was a joke, he couldn't help thinking he'd found the first route to her affections. Katniss loved food the way only people who'd known starvation could.

"Mich and you can share it." Unlike him and Bannick, his eldest brother had never stopped sneaking mouthfuls of cake batter behind their mother's back.

Coincidently, Michette knew something of moderation and had never thrown up after eating an entire bowl of wedding cake mix that had to be discarded after it was seasoned wrong.

"I can share. I'm not greedy," she agreed, but there was something thoughtful in her expression. "Peeta?"

His brothers had taught him to be wary of that tone. "Yeah?"

"Do you think you could help me with something?" He hesitated, just because she seemed to expect him to. Not because he didn't know the answer. "Of course."

He followed her to the backyard. Noting the way she watched him, assessing him for something.

The backyard wasn't overly large and had the beginnings of what looked like a rather sad herb garden around the edge.

And surprisingly it wasn't nearly as empty as it should have been.

}{

Katniss curled into the window, tracing unseen words into the glass. She hadn't expected this train ride to feel so much like the first: a luxurious death march to nowhere she ever wanted to be. Haymitch wasn't pausing between glasses of liquor and only the prep team continued pretending to pay attention to Effie's prattle.

Districts Seven, Six, and Five had passed by in relative peace. Her eyes had immediately found the few in the crowd who stared too hard, searching for something in her Capitol-approved words that she refused to let them find, but the majority looked at her cheery visage with nothing but ill-hid apathy.

It didn't matter. Her desperate attempts to appear carefree and content had disappeared at the sight of Rue's overly thin sister, soulful eyes imploring the newest victor for evidence her sister was mourned.

She can't remember what she said, but she felt Rue's presence shining in every too-sure, too-powerful word. When she managed to suppress her affection and respect for District Eleven's tributes, it had been too late. Work-hardened faces had set on her face as if finding true north. Something incoherent left her lips, a fruitless effort to turn back time, but Rue's haunting four-note tune was copied through the crowd and the peacekeepers descended mercilessly.

She and Haymitch were led back to the train, guns eagerly trained on their hurried forms. The noise from the town square rising with a cacophony of flesh against flesh, batons, and bullets. There were screams of fear, but there were more howls of protest.

"Poor time to grow a personality, sweetheart," Haymitch had snorted, pushing past her disgustedly.

She'd stumbled back to her cabin, just barely managing not to lose her stomach.

She was sure there wasn't enough of her to leave an impression on the remaining districts. The shock of bloody destruction had left her cold, every inch the dead slug Haymitch had first seen.

Even with her perfected disengagement there had been nothing for her in Eight: just dry tinder waiting. She wouldn't be their spark, but her best efforts couldn't douse them.

None of the other districts worried her so much, but they didn't give her much hope either. The grim line of peacekeepers were always there, a conspicuous sign of Snow.

"Last touches to hair and makeup! Twenty minutes till we arrive at Four." Effie's pastel lips thinned when Flavius didn't move quickly enough.

Katniss turned so he could add another three pins to the twelve pounds of metal in her hair and a final glaze of gloss, just in case there was a few still unblinded by the glare.

She should have been glad that the depressing atmosphere her and Haymitch emitted had drained the cheer and exuberance of the Capitolites, but her prep team had never been unkind, capricious in their thoughtlessness—yes, but she couldn't expect more. She gave Flavius a grateful smile for the migraine-inducing coiffure, which he returned shakily.

Four differed in only one way: it's sole living male victor waited for her on stage. She had been surprised by their absence in previous districts. Haymitch hadn't. _Like they'd let you spoil the barrel._

Of course that wouldn't matter here: District Four's apple was already plenty spoilt.

She was introduced and then greeted with a somewhat wary round of applause. Finnick was at her side too quickly, making her flinch. His large frame shouldn't be that quick. His already bronze skin shimmered unnaturally in the sun—some sort of Capitol dye—not quite as brilliant as the gold that lined his eyes. The silken trousers and shirt were a bad imitation of what his stylist must think fishermen wear. Still, the flighty appearance couldn't hide the heavy muscle in his upper body. She wished she could appreciate the view.

He grabbed her hand before she could stop him, lips brushing against her knuckles and leaving a sticky trail of gloss. She resisted the urge to wipe her hand, focusing instead on the hard calluses in his warm grip. It was probably from fishing, or something semi-innocuous, but her mind nonetheless pictured him slamming a trident through fragile flesh.

Green eyes fixed on her too intently, probably trying to convey a message she wouldn't bother trying to decipher. As if in his silken, made-up presence she could forget he was Snow's creature. Just like her.

He made a show of introducing himself and she refused to pretend to be impressed.

"The pleasure is mutual, I'm sure."

"Is it?" she returned flatly. "I'd rather not know."

Haymitch guffawed behind her then pushed past to shake the other victor's hand. Finnick leaned in close and she half hoped it was Haymitch's turn for some friendly, sticky overture, but she was never that lucky. Katniss waved and summoned something appropriate to distract the cameras while Finnick whispered to Haymitch.

It was a strange audience. She could feel the same heat here that was in Eight and Eleven, but it was better concealed. The absolute silence during her speech and distrustful glances shot at Finnick were the only visible hints, everything else was just currents in the air, begging her to do stupid, brave things to get them all killed.

She was relieved enough to get away that she didn't hesitate when Finnick held out an arm to lead her away, even knowing she didn't have a choice. He led her past a few buildings with obvious Capitol influences into quiet streets where the cameras stopped following them on queue. The houses weren't what she expected. They were far larger than any in District Twelve, excepting the Undersees' and Victors' Village, but the unpolished grey timber walls made it look like they could be reclaimed by the forest at any time, the tall gabled roofs like something from a storybook. The only obvious concession to wealth was the ornate carvings on the colourful front doors.

She gripped Finnick's sleeve, tugging him closer to the house on the right. "What is that?"

He looked between her and the door. "The dolphin?" She stepped close enough to run her fingers over the strange figure. The wood was smooth and sun-warmed under her fingers. Gale's father had carved delicate woodland creatures. The very few that had survived the Hawthorne's leaner winters—too beloved to trade—were exquisite, but completely surpassed by the ocean on the door, so realistic it seemed barely contained by its wooden frame.

"It's a sea creature. My grandfather said there were plenty in Four until about a decade after The Dark Days. They were good luck for sailors, so I suppose it's apt they're gone."

"They were really that large?" It dwarfed the fish swimming alongside it. "Why is there someone on its back?"

"He's being saved." Katniss frowned, unable to tell if he was making fun of her or not.

"Come on or you'll miss afternoon tea."

"I've already eaten."

"But not with your illustrious equals."

Her "illustrious equals" ended up being Mags, an elderly woman who grasped Katniss in a slightly painful hug, and Annie, a disheveled strawberry blonde with dark circles under her hazel eyes who refused to acknowledge Katniss's presence.

In fact, she ignored them all, pressing her balled hands against her lips until Finnick sank down beside her chair and whispered into her ear for long, awkward minutes. Mags spoke some garbled words and Annie followed her dazedly into the kitchen. Annie walked past Finnick without looking at him, but her fingers grazed his cheek for the briefest of seconds. Katniss averted her eyes for reasons she couldn't comprehend.

"Annie Cresta." Katniss whispered, mind slowly putting together the pieces.

Finnick just nodded.

Annie's games weren't replayed very often. An accidental victor splattered in blood, silent in interviews, and so clearly haunted in photos didn't make for great entertainment.

It ended up being an oddly peaceful gathering. Finnick talked about the season's fishing outlook with Mags. Annie poured a smokey tea for all of them with surprising grace while Katniss devoured tiny tarts that were a specialty of Four. It was all terribly ordinary (if you ignored Annie's quiet mutterings and Finnick's vaguely see-through shirt) and the terrible pressure slowly eating Katniss's scalp began to ease for the first time since she had gotten back on that train.

"Do you think I could have the recipe?" Katniss asked, reaching for her fourth long after everyone but Finnick had stopped eating.

Annie seemed startled by the question and looked to Mags. The older victor spoke more words that Katniss assumed was approval by her smile.

"You cook?" Finnick asked, looking impressed.

"Not without duress," Katniss replied easily, "but Peeta, the baker's son, might make them with me if I can get some of these cranberries." Mags spoke again. This time Katniss could pick up every other word. "You don't have to do that, I could-"

Mags waved her off.

"We always have too many. They go bad..." All eyes swung toward Annie in surprise. Finnick motioned to keep Katniss talking.

"In that case, I can't refuse. No one from Twelve could stand by and let food go bad," Katniss joked weakly.

Annie didn't smile, but briefly met Katniss's eyes before beginning to clear the table.

There was a loud rap on the door, which Katniss would have ignored if Finnick's expression hadn't darkened.

He seemed to shrug it away, thanking Annie and kissing Mags cheek with his usual charm.

"Time to go," he told Katniss firmly.

She followed a few steps behind him as he opened the door. A man inches taller than Finnick greeted them. Everything about him from his satin grey suit to his lavender eyes screamed Capitolite. "Gaius, you look as delicious as always," Finnick greeted the man cheerily.

"Oh, and how delicious is that?" Gaius responded with derision. "Not at all in your eyes, I'd wager. If only that tongue of yours was as clever as it is talented." Finnick's smile didn't waiver. "You and Victor Everdeen need to be debriefed and prepared for the banquet."

"Of course. Katniss, this is Gaius Cassitori. He's President Snow's—what do you call it?—madam?"

Gaius only raised an over-plucked brow. "Secretary of Irregular Affairs." He stepped over the threshold only to have Finnick grasp his shoulder. "We're getting prepared at my house."

"I need to speak with the other victors."

Katniss could see how tightly Finnick's hand gripped the man's bony shoulder, but nothing showed in the Capitolite's voice.

Finnick was still grinning even as Gaius's face began turning red, visible even under his elaborate makeup. "They're not coming."

Katniss took in their surroundings, half expecting an army of peacekeepers to march on them, but the men simply stared at each other evenly. "Snow will hear about this," Gaius responded finally.

Finnick clapped him on the back. "Never though he wouldn't."

"Hurry up then. How that one," he gestured towards Katniss, "is supposed to be of any value is beyond me."

}{


	6. Chapter 6

}{

_The Banquet_

}{

Katniss tried and failed to suppress a long sigh at her reflection. Cinna had led her to one of Finnick's beautiful, timber-framed mirrors.

She'd seen District Two tributes wear something similar. _Grecian_, her stylist had called it. It wouldn't have been so bad, except for the neckline. If it could be called that—having so little to do with anything near her neck. The sheer white straps widened gradually to cover her breasts and little else, the empire waist ending their immodest descent. Below that, the heavy linen fell beautifully to the floor, the elegant fluting of the dress only barely hinting at the figure contained within.

Her makeup was darker than Cinna usually allowed. Her lips covered in jewel-red, eyes surrounded with varying shades of matte greys.

She turned away from the reflection she didn't recognise.

Cinna's dark eyes rested on her, something terribly understanding in their depths. Always her uncannily observant stylist had known her worries and known the words to allay them. That he stood silent at her side now said enough.

She tugged uneasily at the material—butter soft under her fingers—trying to cover more of her cleavage. Abstractly she'd known the plentiful food in her new cupboards would put flesh where it should have been years ago, but it was another thing for all of Panem to have to see it.

Cinna's hand gently stopped her. "Leave it. It won't reveal an inch more of skin, I promise."

She believed him. There wasn't an inch more skin left to reveal. She gathered the will not to think about her appearance any longer and managed a small smile for Cinna. He'd never let her down before, and even with outside influences for this particular dress, she had to believe he wouldn't let her look like a fool.

If he understood why instructions for how she was to look came from The Capitol, he didn't say, and she was grateful for his silence.

Effie fluttered around, pink brows drawn together with the stress of time constraints and procrastinating victors.

Gaius and Finnick were waiting in the foyer for her. Katniss paused for a moment to take in the splendour of Finnick Odair in a toga.

"How embarrassing. I think you're wearing the same dresses me."

Finnick laughed. "Should we ask our entourage who wore it better?"

"It would be the last thing you ever did," she warned. She knew the hours Cinna spent turning her average face into something spectacular meant little beside Finnick's ridiculous perfection, but she was enough of a girl that anyone mentioning that fact would regret it.

Gaius ran his eyes up and down her form, never lingering and never impressed. "It'll do. I need very little from you tonight, Miss Everdeen. You are the mysterious young ingenue who has, _amazingly_, captured the attention of Panem's favourite victor."

She looked between him and Finnick's small smile, trying to suppress the helplessness she felt and ignoring the not-so-subtle insult.

"It'll be fine," Finnick assured her.

It wasn't.

The banquet was beautiful. Far more elaborate than any they'd held in Twelve. Cocktail shrimp and linen napkins were less of a luxury and more of a pipe dream for the outer districts. There were plenty of people that matched the decor, perfectly adorned and conspicuously wealthy. Whole families with sparkling blue eyes and champagne blond hair greeted the victors easily. Finnick introduced her to the traders and merchants that so obviously and obnoxiously thought they deserved an introduction. They eagerly informed her of their importance, as if she had any reason to care. Finnick was always polite, but didn't bother with the cloying charm she was used to seeing.

Amongst the beautiful tableware and bounty of food she watched what could easily have been her family and neighbours stroll in. The fisherman with bright, sun-bleached hair and skin browned even more than Finnick's, scarlet across their foreheads and noses with painful looking sun burn. Too often their hands and arms were wrapped in stained bandages. Others trailed in, thin and awkward in their patched-up clothes, probably worn last for the reaping.

Her eyes were drawn to a young mother with bright green eyes in a face too sunken in to be pretty. Her baby wasn't chubby like it should be, and it didn't wave his arms around happily like even Posy had done when Katniss had held her at that age.

_People starved here_, she realised. A bad season and people would die here. She wondered if their tributes had known this, if the boy she couldn't even picture and the girl she led to a horrific death had known the extra supplies of their victory would have saved lives.

Probably.

She knew well what it was like to be desperate for the food the victory banquet offered. She remembered forcing Prim to eat as much as she could with a shrunken stomach that wouldn't cooperate and an appetite that had dwindled with disuse. She had searched for a way to save some for later, but lost her nerve when the peacekeepers watched her knowingly. On their way home Prim had vomited on her shoes.

She ate her lobster Mornay while Finnick chatted animatedly to her. His hands played with her hair and occasionally strayed to her back, which was just as uncomfortably bare as her front. People watched alongside the cameras, some interested, most not. One boy, tall and sun-browned, glared at Finnick with pure hatred. The look he gave her wasn't much better.

He reminded her uneasily of Gale.

The sauce was rich enough to make her ill.

"When can I go?"

"The mayor will make the last speech on the hour." Finnick nodded towards a dourly dressed man who had to be at least seventy.

Her eyes flicked between the mayor and the huge clock above his shoulder at least a hundred times before Finnick gestured for Gaius. The two spoke in hushed voices. Gaius's unnaturally coloured eyes roved over her unhappily before he finally nodded and disappeared back to his seat.

Finnick grabbed her hand. "Smile at me—_sweetly_-and you can go."

Katniss studied his intense face before smiling as serenely as she could manage. After a second he smiled back. She didn't bother asking more questions, just rose quickly and turned to leave. Finnick was quicker, draping an arm around her shoulders and leading her out the back.

"Must you?"

He shrugged. "You were starting to turn green and getting less attractive by the second, so when I told Gaius we were going to give the cameras a show of us heading out together, he was all for it."

She could only imagine what the cameras had seen: Finnick holding her hand, staring deeply into her eyes, their shared smiles, before they practically ran out the door, not bothering to hide their eagerness.

Even she couldn't blame their audience for believing they were running off for some quick tryst.

"Clever, aren't I?"

Her throat swelled up, making it hard to swallow. She knew she couldn't go far; she knew there was nowhere to go. Blindly she headed towards the sound that had been calling to her all day.

She only made it a few steps before Finnick grabbed her elbow. She whirled on him, snatching her arm back forcefully.

"What?!" she choked out, voice broken. Finnick was just a golden and white blur and her breath caught in her throat when his callused fingers brushed her wet cheek. It was another shock to realise she'd started crying.

"I'm sorry, Katniss—truly," he said quietly, in a voice she didn't recognise. He looked behind her, to the sound she'd been chasing. "I've been playing this game so long, I forget how…ugly it is. You didn't look well, and I wanted to help. Nothing more."

It was stupid to get upset about something so small. She shouldn't care if people thought she was another one of Finnick's conquests. It was nothing compared to what they'd think of her soon enough.

Knowing this was just the beginning made her feel worse.

"Help?" She let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "Then what was today about? Annie's tarts, Mags _kindness_?" She spat it like a curse. She remembered the warmth she'd felt in Mag's home.

"That was about _feeding_ you."

She shook her head, feeling feral and frantic. _These people have no reason to be nice to you. None._ Except for the one. "They're who you protect, right? Who you do all of this for." She gestured to her dress and his toga, knowing she wasn't quite making sense. "So you bring me there, and there's tarts and—" Mags _hugged_ her. No one hugs her. Only Prim. And that didn't count. She knew she wasn't the sort of person people hug, but for some rason she couldn't admit that to him. "And so now no matter what you do, no matter what Snow tells you to do—I go along with it. You make me look like something to buy, and I help you, because now I want to protect them too."

Finnick was shaking his head before she even finished. "No, Katniss: I wanted you to meet them because they're good people."

Good people who he wanted to protect. She turned away, walking to where she was heading before. The wind chilled her still drying face. She didn't blame him. Couldn't. Not knowing the lengths she'd go to protect the people she cared about.

She reached a grassy knoll that dissolved into sand and beyond that: the sea, leagues upon leagues of moonlit sea. The waves crashed, rhythmic and constant, and it sent something in her blood racing. She nearly gasped when she understood. It felt like her woods. Nothing had ever felt like her woods before. Her woods were safety, and nourishment, and _freedom_.

The sound of Finnick's footsteps must have been drowned out by the sea, because she hadn't heard him come up behind her. "I'm sorry."

A dark brow rose disbelieving on its own.

"I was barely fifteen when…when I was in your position. _Fifteen_." His face turned fierce, and he was so much more of a victor in that moment than some Capitol-playboy that she can't quite understand how she ever mistook him for the later. A quiet apology slipped from her tongue before she could stop it—It was such a feeble response to what he's telling her—but he simply brushed it away. "I was barely fifteen," he repeated, finding her gaze, "and you're so much more innocent than I ever was. It's hard to watch."

"I'm not that innocent." No one who left the games was.

"Only you kind of are," he said with a small smile. "I spend the night feeling you up, and you're only reaction is to get sick." She frowned. Did he expect her to throw herself at him over some faux fawning? "And I'd be mildly insulted by that, except you pay no attention to _any_ of the people so obviously throwing themselves at you."

Her frown deepened. She didn't know what he was talking about. "Should I be sorry?"

"No." Despite his denial, he looked unhappy. "I think I knew you'd be like this, and I think I was hoping you wouldn't fight me after you met Annie and Mags."

"It's okay." He was as trapped as she was. She couldn't even blame him for manipulating her into caring for the people he protected.

"It's not." He drew a deep breath, and Katniss thought maybe she wasn't the only one the Mornay was too rich for.

It was a full moon, but even with her sharp eyesight she had trouble seeing anything beyond sand and rocks. She was grateful when Finnick joined in her search, picking up one seashell after another in quick succession. He had a handful of petal shaped shells in shades of yellow, pink, and cream that young girls in Four liked to make jewellery from. along with an assortment of spirals and cones. The sea seemed eager to hand over her treasures to Finnick.

She found only one large orange shell, smooth and glossy, about the size of her palm. From above it looked exactly like the glazed buns the bakery sold on occassion.

"Good sized cowrie." She gave Finnick a questioning look. "It's a type of sea snail."

Not for Prim then. Her sister had delicately relocated all the snails she found in their mother's new garden to Haymitch's house—a grave insult in Prim terms. Any other pests would have been moved into their guest bedroom and dressed in finery.

"I better get you back to your keepers. We can stop at mine and pick up a conch for your younger cousins." She blinked in confusion. "The Hawthornes?"

He shot her a sideways glance. "Not your cousins?"

She shook her head. It was such a strange lie for the Capitol to concoct, distancing her oldest friend.

"Good. The big, pretty one yours then?"

"Gale's a friend."

"Make him something more then. Or—who was it?—Pita? The baker?" His green eyes narrowed. "Don't go to the Capitol inexperienced. Don't give them that. And don't make it worse for yourself."

She ducked her head, hoping to hide the sudden blush. "I couldn't," she whispered. She couldn't use Gale like that. If she invited him into her bed, he'd expect it to be for good, and he wouldn't forgive anything less. Peeta had never shown any interest in her. Not like that. "How could I drag someone else into this?"

Finnick seemed to understand. "You don't have to." He turned from the sea, meeting her gaze squarely and she could read the sincerity in his offer. There was nothing in this for him. He didn't want her. Not in any way that meant something. It was just a kindness extended to a fellow victor, one of the few they were allowed.

And she wanted to take it, wanted desperately to have a choice in how she lost herself. She wanted to be angry with the Capitol, with Snow for forcing her, with the citizens that would use her, but she was too afraid. Everything she'd never known and fought so hard to remain ignorant of was there, taunting her naiveté, making her cold and uneasy. She'd much prefer the comforting warmth of her fury.

"No." It came out far too forcefully and Finnick's face shuttered off as he turned back to the ocean. "I mean thanks, but I can't."

Her clumsy explanation had just made a bigger mess of things. The Finnick Odair mask she watched for years as he was paraded out with companion after companion was firmly in place again with something awful and self-derisive in the quirk of his lips. She wished she had the grace to make him understand it wasn't him that she didn't want.

Finnick shrugged indifferently. "There's no time limit on the offer. Well…" he trailed off.

Of course there was. It just wasn't one either of them dictated.

She nodded, watching as waves broke into white foam that inched ever closer to her toes.

It had been hard to say no, harder even than the embarrassment of actually going through with the idea. Because she didn't want her first time to be alone in a frighteningly colourful Capitol room, at the mercy of some frighteningly colourful Capitol citizen, but she couldn't use Finnick like that. What difference would there be between her and one of his buyers if she asked for his body just to ease her fear?

There were precious few choices left to her. She had to make them count.

And she refused to make her life easier at the expense of making Finnick's harder.

She held out her dress for Finnick to pool the damp shells covered with sand.

He walked her back to the station even after her clumsy words.

Effie was screeching before she even made it onto the train. "What have you done to your dress? Venia! Venia!"

The prep team gently consoled Effie while Katniss escaped to her room.

}{

Even amongst the silk and furs of her room, she never forgot she lived under the Capitol's thumb.

Her cabin grew hot, so terribly, painfully hot. There's smoke and then once more she's the Girl on Fire. 

Just like last time, she watched as her skin charred, and large leaking blisters formed only to break again, but this time it was Gale that held her parachute, filled with soothing, healing balm.

He glared at her, just like the boy at the banquet.

He'll never not hate her for this.

}{


End file.
